


Reflections

by Kyky25



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Mirrors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1613339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyky25/pseuds/Kyky25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>thirtythree33:<br/>Imagine growing up in <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/daves4/what-would-it-look-like-if-you-were-inside-a-box-full-of-mir">this</a> room and on your 18th birthday you take your first step outside.</p><p> </p><p>My name is Mitsu and I grew up in a world of mirrors. You're never alone when you have your reflections, but it wasn't until I had the chance to talk to a real person that I realised how lonely I was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> Written for thirtythree33 from imgur. This was going to be a short story or something at first but my story ideas have a habit of spiraling out of hand.
> 
> Yay, another story for me to write three chapters of then virtually ignore >->

I grew up in a world of mirrors.

They did not hang from every wall, they _were_ the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Shining silver tables and gleaming glass chairs filled my existence. All items in my room either glistened chrome or were crystal clear. There was nothing to distract me from myself.

The myriad of reflections stretching out into infinity, mirroring my every movement. I was never alone, although the last memory I had of another person with me, touching me, holding me, was nearly fourteen years previously. They are nothing more than a dream of a blurred face and a whisper of a voice now.

You’re never alone when you have your reflections, they’re just as alive as you are and only separated by the depth of a shadow.

I’m sorry if I’m being too verbose here but I’ve just always loved words. For many years books were my only real connection to the outside world, other than the electronic tutoring from the computer terminal. I didn’t get to hold a real book until I turned fifteen. It was Peter Pan.

I suppose I should explain some things about who I am and how I grew up first, though. My name is Mitsu. I don’t have a last name as far as I know, I’ve just always been Mitsu, although for a time you might have known me as MirrorGirl8. My time on the internet was fleeting, cut short by Forces That Be, but informative for both myself and the world.

Anyway, I grew up alone in my mirrored room, the only friends I had were those I read of and imagined. Every day - or at least I think they were days, time was determined by the computer and the dimming of the lamps - I went through the same routines. Woken up by the lamps switching on to find clean white clothes at the end of my bed, a tray of cereal and fruit on the table and a new book available to read on the computer. I got dressed, ate food, brushed my teeth, did my lessons on the computer, ate the second tray of food that appeared on the table during lessons, exercised, washed up and then played games, watched movies and read my book until the lights dimmed.

Rinse and repeat until girl’s seventeenth birthday.

Very few days ever stood out in my life. The only things that stopped every day from being identical to the others were the small gifts that appeared at the end of my bed, next to my clothes, every three hundred and sixty five days. It didn’t take me too long to figure out that day was my birthday.

Mostly they were items that would seem trivial to a normal person; but I wasn’t exactly normal, not that I knew that at the time. When I was very young I got a small honey-coloured teddy bear. I spent ages placing him around the room and watching how the reflections changed now there was a spot of colour other than my yellow-brown skin. Then I got a bird-looking creature that dipped in and out of a cup of water, its whole body rocking with the movement. A thick notebook and coloured pencils was next.

When I was ten, as far as I could tell, I received a yellow and burgundy striped scarf with an unfamiliar symbol embroidered into the end. I found it rather strange at first because I didn’t need more clothing and I didn’t recognise the insignia, but the new book that was available on the computer was called ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’. I wore the scarf nearly every day after that.

All my presents were colourful in one way or another, and I loved every one of them. I loved the way my room reflected something other than myself and the lights; I loved feeling like there was something in the infinite void other than me; and when I got a music player on my thirteenth birthday I loved throwing the colours about while I danced, creating a light show that echoed through the universe.

The day I turned seventeen I woke to find no spot of colour at the end of my bed, only a printed note next to my clothes. It told me to go to the computer terminal, so ignoring my usual routine I did. The screen looked normal and clicking around did nothing out of the ordinary. Disappointment welled up in me as I thought I’d been cheated out of one of the few bright spots in my existence before I noticed a new symbol on the screen.

Nestled between the movie viewer and lessons icon was a blue ‘i’ with a picture of the earth as the tittle. Bringing it up opened a page of text explaining what the program was and how to use it. To keep things short, it gave me access to the Internet.

And that was where things started to go wrong.


End file.
